I’ve sometimes thought about what should happen to my body after life leaves it. Honestly, I wouldn’t want to be placed in a coffin, slowly consumed by voracious bacteria, only to have my bones eventually stored in a small urn inside a tomb — for all eternity.

I’d prefer cremation, but only after the removal of any organs still useful to others. Then comes the next dilemma: what to do with the ashes. I’d hate the idea of ending up in an urn on someone’s bookshelf. Imagine if someone had a moment of insanity — like Keith Richards — and decided to sniff me!

Keith Richards [Source: AFP PHOTO/ANDREW COWIE]
Another idea: if we ever build a special house, or find one that feels like home, my ashes could be mixed into the soil of the garden. Imagine being recycled into some fruit or a vegetable — maybe a chayote?
Still, I can already hear the jokes:
– “This orange is too sour!”
– “Hey, wasn’t this orange tree fertilized with what’s-his-name?”
And please, don’t blame me if the chayote turns out tasteless. That part definitely won’t be my fault.
Then there’s the alternative of becoming a flower — but even that might invite sarcastic remarks. I’d probably end up as a fruitless tree or a shrub no one waters.

Chayote
Sometimes, I think the best option would be to return directly to the earth, without leaving anyone the responsibility of figuring out the “final disposal” of my remains.
And if, by some miracle, this post ends up mattering to anyone in the future, maybe someone will say:
– “Damn it! That guy really messed things up…”
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